


I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5806165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new Lord and Lady of Winterfell have a bit of a lie in.</p>
<p>Originally Written for the 'Countdown to Wintertown' Game of Ships Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm

Jon is used to rising early. Daylight was precious at the Wall and there was always so much to be done. Game to catch. Recruits to train. Patrols to man. Ravens to send.

_You’re not at the Wall now._

The evidence of that is currently pressed against his side. Jon smiles, looking down at his sleeping wife. Married nearly a year, and he’s still not grown used to waking beside her. 

Jon watches a moment as she sleeps. Only the very top of her head is visible from underneath their bed coverings. She is tucked snugly against him, curled up, contented like a cat in the sun. 

It seems a pity to leave her, but for all that he is no longer at the Wall, he still has responsibilities to attend to. Today he and his castellan are to start on their plans to restore the glass gardens. It would not do to be late.

Reluctantly, Jon starts to rise, but is stilled by a surprisingly strong grip on his arm.

“Stay,” Sansa murmurs, her voice thick with sleep. 

It is a tempting offer. To spend the morning in their warm bed with Sansa pressed against him is certainly more appealing than venturing into the drafty corridors of the keep. But the Lord of Winterfell cannot afford to spend the day abed.

“I can’t,” Jon sighs, carefully extracting himself from Sansa’s hold. He leans over, brushing a light kiss against Sansa’s temple before scooting to the edge of the bed. 

A startled yelp sounds behind him as soon as he lifts the furs. Jon glances over his shoulder and is met with a pair of narrowed, blue eyes.

“Cold!” Sansa pouts, yanking the furs back up to her chin.

Jon’s face splits into a grin. 

It seems absurd that Sansa should be cold. After the Great Keep was restored, Sansa had laid claim to the chambers that once belonged to her lady mother. Of the family rooms, they are located the closest to the hot springs that heat the castle and are, consequentially, the warmest rooms in the keep. Jon finds them stifling, but to Sansa they are never quite warm enough.

Every night she sleeps under a great pile of blankets and furs. It is one of the few luxuries he’s seen his wife permit herself as the long winter continues to drag on. Sansa has also taken to wearing a practical looking night rail and thick woolen stockings following their nightly couplings.  

While Jon is grateful to no longer be prodded by frozen toes in the night, he always watches his wife don her night apparel with a touch of resentment, longing to see the inches of pale, soft skin freshly concealed under layers of lamb’s wool.

Jon swallows thickly, thinking on how much of that pale, soft skin he had under his mouth the night before.  

From her perch against the pillows, Sansa watches him. Her mouth is still in a pretty pout, but it is more playful now, the corner of her lip quirking upward just slightly.

_Glass gardens be damned!_

Jon scrambles back under the furs towards Sansa, reaching out to gather her against his chest.

“Apologies, my lady.” He nuzzles his face into her hair. “Allow me keep you warm.”He presses a kiss to the skin just below her ear. 

Sansa makes a pleased hum, melting into his arms, as Jon trails kisses against her jaw. Her eyes flutter close. She threads a hand into the curls at the base of his head, directing his mouth to press against hers. Jon does so, eagerly, his lips moving over hers in a series of soft, drowsy kisses. 

Jon is content to just spend a lazy morning kissing her in their bed, but then Sansa reaches for him, her hands bunching the front of his tunic, desperately tugging him closer, so that she is cage beneath his body. Their kissing grows heated, hands moving restlessly over each other, both now seeking something more than just kisses. 

Jon inches up the hem of her night rail, fingers dragging up the soft inside of her thighs, before stopping at their juncture. He cups her sex through her smallclothes, gleefully muffling the wanton sounds she makes with his kiss. He drags a finger over her, feeling how soaked through the linen is, and muffles a groan of his own against her neck.

When he pulls away, Sansa makes a needy whimper, her hips nudging towards him, chasing the friction that he denies her. 

“Patience, sweet girl,” he coos, kissing her shoulder before leaning back to look down at her. Sansa is most definitely awake now, blue eyes wide and dazed, lips kiss-swollen. 

Jon is stirred to see his ladylike wife so disheveled and blatantly wanting. He hovers over her, pressing gentle kisses through the wool of her night rail from her sternum down her stomach.

Eager to do away with those damned stockings, Jon trails a hand up her leg to where one is secured high on her thigh with a grey satin ribbon. He tears the bow loose and swiftly rolls the stocking down the length of her leg, tossing it somewhere behind him. He gives the other stocking the same treatment, dispatching it just as quickly. 

Above him, Sansa pleads his name over and over again, shifting against the mattress to shimmy her smallclothes down her legs, kicking them to join her stockings at the end of the bed. 

Jon grins, happy to have her bared to him at last. He begins to shoulder her legs apart, ready to taste her, but Sansa is too impatient for that. Grasping hands tug him back up to her and pull him into a bruising kiss. He meets her passion with his own. 

When she slips a hand under his tunic to run over the muscles of abdomen, he lets out a startled sound, shrinking away from her touch. 

“Cold, my lord?” she laughs, eyes shining. 

She cups her hands in front of her mouth, blowing on her fingers to warm them, before settling them back on the skin of his stomach. Jon winces, as they are still chilled some, but his discomfort passes quickly as her nails drag in light, agonizingly circles below his navel and over his hipbones. At last, she ends her teasing and takes him in hand, giving a gentle tug that steals the breath from his lungs.

“Sansa—I can’t—”

Sansa nods in understanding. Her hands move from his cock to grip his buttocks. She tugs him into the cradle of her hips, his cock rubbing so agonizingly close to where she is hot and wet and waiting.

He enters her, relishing the little sigh Sansa breaths against his jaw. As hurried as they were moments before, their lovemaking now is slow and measured, building gradually until they are both taut and trembling for release. 

“Jon!” Sansa comes apart, flushed and lovely in his arms. With a few more desperate jerks of his hips, Jon follows, his breath sawing raggedly in his chest.

They are both covered in a sheen of sweat, tunic and night rail rumpled and clinging to the skin of their backs. The layers of furs and bedclothes Sansa had nested in are now kicked in a tangle at the foot of the bed, but Sansa seems in no hurry to huddle beneath them again. Instead, she moves them so she can drape herself languorously over Jon, her head on his shoulder, one foot hooked around his knee.

“Are you warm now, wife?” Jon teases, as his breathing calms.

Sansa hums her assent, nuzzling her face into his neck.

“But it is winter yet,” she murmurs, warm breath ghosting against his skin. “Doubtless I shall be cold again soon, my lord.”

Jon laughs, and pulls her closer against him. 

“Then I will be at your service.”


End file.
